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Chapter 1: The Disappearance of Inigo Sharpe - A [13th Age] PbP

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The searing ray veers wildly off target, setting fire to the warehouse front. True panic sets in now as not only are there clearly criminals attempting to flee the law, but also they're willing to destroy the town and everyone in it to escape judgement.

Right as Mikhail lines up his shot, someone manages to jump on the boat causing a significant rocking. The shift is enough to send the ray of fire and light off past his target and into a gathering of warehouses. The beam slides across the facades leaving a black scar wreathed in flame. Puck moves its glowing hands up in front of where would normally inhabit eyes, and makes an obvious movement of cringe. It peaks over to Mikhail.

"...did you mean to do that?"

Mikhail blows a few embers off the tips of his fingers, while his skin, eyes and hair shift back to their normal look. "Hmm... unintended, perhaps. But it did get their attention..."

Tomas nods at Kasben's suggestion. "It makes some sense, at first blush ... So, shall we just move heavier items to the back, here? That would sink the blades further into the water." Tomas looks around for something heavy ... ish. He's not a manual laborer, after all. This seems like something more in line with Bragg's skillset. In fact, probably the best thing he can do is to place himself at the back of the boat. Moving to the back, Tomas stands close to the propeller, hoping his weight helps to move the needle slightly. Whispering a few phrases, he waves his hands over the ... part where someone could sit ... conjuring a handful of green motes, which quickly slide back and forth over the surface, leaving it cleaner than it had been since the boat was constructed. His seat thus prepared, Tomas sits.

Unless said other, I agree with that sentiment. Unless a players says otherwise or I make a special note of it, assume all information is shared by the person who knows it. It'll keep the game flowing smoothly and prevent disruption from occurring.

Rushing forward, Zenigata snaps the handcuff on to the wrist of Kirst. A look of exuberance washes over his face, as he thinks for a moment that he has captured his quarry. This is, until he steps on a split fish and collapses on his own face. From his jacket pocket, a small clay bauble with arcane glyphs flings forward. A lifetime of thievery and skullduggery have given Kirst a certain level of reflex. She doesn't even have to think about snatching the flung stone from the air.

With the weight shifted to the aft of the vessel by Tomas, the propeller was forced deeper into the water and thus the boat jolted forward with a lurch. At the very last second, Kirst leaps aboard the starboard from the docks at it takes off, but her grip on the railing is tenuous at best. Bragg assisted her by dragging her soggy rear end on deck. Back on the docks, you can hear the swearing and shouting of an angry palace guard.

"Damn you, Kirst!" Zenigata shouted, leaping and shaking angry from the dock end. His chin is redden, swollen, and bleeding. "Next time, I will get you! You hear me! I will see you behind bars, you menace!"

I figured, but also thought you might want to post something about what you wanted to do with the information. I was just running out of time to get my turn in before hopping on a plane, and didn't want to coopt your action too much but also didn't want to leav the thread hanging.

I'm actually glad I ran this little test run of initiative, as its the first time I've ran a D&D-derivative game as a play-by-post. Gonna be less hard and firm with initiative order. If its your turn, basically give like 8-12 hours to post before moving on to the next person then just allow them to post when they can.

"Let's maybe consider not becoming the top of the Empire's Most Wanted list, maybe? I still work here and will be in enough trouble when I file my reports - Zenigata at least I can pass off as miscommunication between units and acting in self defense."

He looks visibly disappointed by the decision, but opts to pantomime the casting of an elaborate spell complete with mouthing sound effects towards the distraught guards growing smaller in the distance.

In an effort to fool Zenigata, the party initially has the ship pull South out of the harbor. Better to be safe than sorry. Then they double back north up the coastline toward their destination. The weight at the back certainly adds more speed though it also reduces stability, so the items you moved to weight it down are dispersed. The rest of the journey is relatively peaceful, with the exception of some mild confusion on the part of your captain, port-charm. It is a good day for sailing. The skies are bright and clear and the waves are gentle, without anger. The spray of the sea almost tickles the skin and the air is crisp. It is a long journey along the shore to your destination, so the reprieve from the previous excitement is most welcome. Those with the interest could take up some casual fishing to little avail, while other less used to remaining still become antsy and anxious.

It is nearly dusk now, and a few have fallen asleep at their rods while others are practically chomping at the bit after being on a small fishing vessel for nearly a half day. That is when you spot it. A small white clay hut, a dome really, nestled between the dunes just a few clicks further up the shore. You might have missed it except for the gentle glow of light coming from a doorless portal and open windows.

Unlike Skills in standard d20 games, Backgrounds are meant to reflect a bit of who your character is and not just their raw ability. They're backstory. I'm not asking for a novel or anything, just a little "When I was <blah blah>, we would <blah blah>." that can apply to the situation at hand.

@Nullzone You seem to recall hearing about hermits who would scorn society, seeking isolation to better contemplate the nature of the gods and the metaverse. They spend their self-imposed exile thinking about enlightenment and the message of the Priestess. These people tend to lack the normal social niceties and be more than a little prickly due to their scorn of civilization. You suspect based on this remote location and lack of anything for miles that Firigin might just be such an ascetic.

Mikhail rises up from the small corner of the deck among some netting and crates where he had resided during the trip. A bit green behind the gills regarding the whole ordeal, but keeping enough composure to not lose his breakfast over the rail. He does let out a modest groan of indigestion as the ship rocks closer to the coast. He overhears most of the conversation's highlights.

"*burp* Ugh... hermits. Met a few of those types in the deserts back home. Not often pleasant folk to be around. *gulp* Biggest issue... the smell."

The captain begrudging pulls into the shallows to weight anchor. "I'm still not sure what I'm doing here..." he grumbles. Quenlin can't complain too much as the coin purse Elsa provided for travel expenses was flush enough to make the trip worthwhile. He pulls as far as he safely can without grounding the boat then tosses the anchor. You have to wade through hip-line high water to the shore.

Approaching the sandy dome you start to hear something odd coming from inside the hut. It almost sounds like ... someone was having some sort of party inside? As you get closer you're eyes adjust to light inside and see an elderly gnome. Bald of head with a thick mustache, wearing a bright floral print shirt and khaki shorts. The hovel itself has a bed built into the side of the wall of the same material, made comfortable by futon and pillows. There is a fireplace built in the same fashion, that isn't currently in use. The gnome himself is laid out in a folding chair with a sweating colorful, you suspect alcoholic, drink and an ambulatory fan that is continual billowing his gleaming scalp. And what seems to have this gnome in such high spirit is the magazine he is reading. One containing very large pictures of well-endowed young sorceresses in varying states of disrobe. And there are multiple stacks of these magazines, many well-worn, of various titles about the same subject matter. Some of them about warrior ladies in chainmail that could never be protective. Nubile witches having magical "accidents" in the lab. And so on, and so forth.

"Woohoo!" the old gnome hoots, clearly having a grand time by his lonesome surrounded by smut. He gulps down about half of his beverage with a satisfied sigh. "Adventuring women are so much hotter these days than in mine. Hehe."

I think that is a reference I do not understand. I do have an image in my mind. It does not involve any turtles, though. So no, there are no turtles nearby. It's just a creepy old gnome drinking and looking at dirty magazines.

Yeah, I'm probably the only animoo fan who actively hates Deagon Ball. So no, not a reference to him though I see the similarities. Like all shounen shows, it's derivative of the derivative of the derivative.

As Zenigata shook his fist at her from the docks, he realized there was nothing in those handcuffs but one of the fish Kirst had freed from the captivity of its barrel. It flopped about in midair where it dangled from the cuff he was holding. As he shouted at her, she called back even as the boat was disappearing from view.

"I will see you behind bars, you menace!""No you won't!"
"...yes I will!""...won't..."

As they made good their escape, she gloated, chuckling heartily. "Guess we're not welcome in Eldolan for a while, eh, Sparky?" She slapped Mikhail on the back. She would have to add it to the list of towns to give a wide berth in the future. Kirst was expecting a long vacation after this job, anyway.

"Hey, Pockets, does this look special to you? I pinched it from the copper." The half-orc produced the bauble for Tomas to inspect. "If it's a locator or somethin', I'll toss it in the drink. Maybe we should toss our new buddy over here before the whammy wears off, eh?" She glanced at the boat's owner, wondering if any of them knew how to drive this thing.

Hoping we could spend some of that downtime seeing what the thing I apparently grabbed does, if that's alright.

Currently...

"This guy doesn't look like a Vitunati to me." Kirst stroked her chin in thought, making a face. "I'm not a fan of hermits either. Nothin' worth my time and skills..." She didn't seem too worried about the possible hermit overhearing her, as she stood outside, letting her now-soggy pants dry. The half-orc was a bit fuzzy on why they'd come here, but it was better than the scene waiting for them back in the city...

The captain begrudging pulls into the shallows to weight anchor. "I'm still not sure what I'm doing here..." he grumbles. Quenlin can't complain too much as the coin purse Elsa provided for travel expenses was flush enough to make the trip worthwhile. He pulls as far as he safely can without grounding the boat then tosses the anchor. You have to wade through hip-line high water to the shore.

Tomas removes his backpack and hands it to the Captain before hopping in the water. Once his footing is secured, he asks for it back and holds it above his head well away from the waves as he wades, very slowly and carefully, to shore. "Some things in here don't react too well to saltwater."

Once ashore, the green motes make another appearance, quickly pressing the water from his clothes and cleaning the salt and slime from them. This takes several minutes, and Tomas refuses to move from the shoreline until the process is complete.

Naturally, he'll extend the same assistance to any of the party who don't wish to be sloshing around in wet boots, but he'll do so while making exasperated remarks at the quality of their clothiers, and potentially touching up a few "mistakes" in cut and color choice if the target doesn't pay careful attention..

"Woohoo!" the old gnome hoots, clearly having a grand time by his lonesome surrounded by smut. He gulps down about half of his beverage with a satisfied sigh. "Adventuring women are so much hotter these days than in mine. Hehe."

It's Pornyoda!

Approaching the hovel, Tomas is about to knock and enter when he catches a glimpse of the gnome's collection and hears his remarks. With a smirk, he turns to Kirst. "Maybe you should go first."

In addition to still being sea-sick, Mikhail now finds himself in waist deep water, fighting the surf and huffing it up to the beach. He makes his way up behind Tomas, brushing the sand from his pants, which due to the light silky fabric, are already mostly dry. Fortunately he's wearing sandals, instead of boots. Lastly he produces a red bit of ribbon from his belt and ties back the majority of the semi-damp hair now hanging across his face into a tight ponytail.

"This experience isn't really changing my opinion of seas, water, and all that goes along with them."

Taking stock of the sights and sounds, as well as the impressive amount of literature laying about, Mikhail nudges one such publication open to a centerfold featuring a Elven maiden on a spring hunt brandishing an intricate longbow and wearing nothing but a sheer shawl about her shoulders.

While approaching the hut, Kasben employs his Imperial training to scan the area for any pertinent signs that anyone else has been here recently - certainly looking out for signs of Mr. Sharpe in particular, but any other clues he can find that might offer a lead. Trying to coax information out of a drunken, distracted gnome seems...challenging.

You have discovered that the item in question, the rune, when crushed and the dust is sprinkled over a weapon, it will provide a temporary enchantment.

It is a Rune +1, for if you need an edge during a battle.

Presently, on the beach...

The gnome glances over his shoulder, toward the voices drifting into his home.

"Oh more youngsters come seeking Firigin's wisdom, eh?" The gnome hops up, setting down the magazine then turning to face you all. There's not a trace of embarassment or shame in his demeanor. "Well, I'm afraid this is an old man's me time. Besides that, I'm retired and no longer accept disciples.

"So sorry you wasted a trip all the way out here. Now off you pop! Shoo! Shooo!" Firigin hmphs, turning up his pointy nose and waving you all away.

Following a little behind the group, on account of how hard it is to wade in full plate, Bragg stomps ashore. Reaching the doorway, he glares down at the reclining gnome while water streams out of various openings in his armour. "Wisdom?" Arching an eyebrow, Bragg surveys the stacks of magazines. "Well, you certainly know how to retire well."

After being shoo'd away by the pervy hermit, Mikhail brings everyone in as best he can for an impromptu huddle.

"Well. I am just going to come right out and say this. So we are all on the same page. I am fully willing to let Kirst sleep with the gnome if that gets us some kind of direction as to where our actual objective is."

He motions across his chest with his hand.

"In addition - I hereby swear the next time we require someone to sleep with a priestess, heiress, or princess to further our noble goals... I will take one for the team."

"Ah Inigo... lots of people come around asking about him lately," Firigin muses stroking his mustache. He picks up his magazine and slops back into his seat, turning the page. "Tell you the same thing I told that other one... last I heard he was dead. And that's that."

It is a calm evening. The tall grass on the dunes sways in the breeze. As previously stated, the dome is nestled between two large dunes that now, on second view, seems suspicious. Down the beach a large driftwood is dragged through the sand by the tide.

It was at this moment that five men peel out from from the dome the gnome calls home. All of them seem like a group of ruffians - they are more scars than even the most war-weary soldiers. One of thick, with a thick beard and wild eyes, hefts a massive club. Another is a bit more stringy than his companion, with throwing knives strapped from head to toe. Another has begun raffling through pages of a thread bare book that is stain with sanguine colors and other more foreign materials. The last two each carry a sword and shield, emblazoned on the shields are icons of the Crusader.

"Shoulda just told us what we wanted to know, old gnome," snickers the knife tosser.

"Look at what we got here," one of the swordbearers licks the edge of his blade, "more meat for cutting."